Body Count
by Openminded101
Summary: The assassin Deathstroke comes to Gotham City on a lead that his missing daughter is being held somewhere in the urban monoliths. Can Batman stop an erupting gang war AND the mysterious hitman before the body count gets too high? The hunt begins... PostDK
1. Prologue: The Hunt Begins

A/N: This is a slightly revised version of the prologue, you'll notice the formatting change as well as the added location of said docks. Plus there's always a bonus of actually spelling the word prologue correctly. :) Hope you all find this easier to read.

Bobby Calzotti had been working for the Cassamento Family for nearly thirty years now. Making him one of the most trusted of Santo Cassamento himself, a fact that he didn't let people forget. Since Santo had became the new head of the family after his father's murder he had quickly promoted Bobby from his original position of street hustler to the Bossman's go-to guy.

He made sure that whatever Santo wanted, he got. Whatever it took.

His pudgy tomato-red face drew on a ciggarette as he stared at himself in the rearview mirror. His men sat patiently while he tidied up his favorite blue suit he'd owned since the 70's. He remembered when he overheard one of his former bodyguards making jokes about the way he dressed. He flashed a sly grin at himself, thinking of how he screamed for mercy when his fingers were removed. No one would ever joke about him again, he made sure of it. His smug sense of self-assuredness was palpable in the close confines of the SUV.

Bobby sighed out a large grey cloud of smoke and stamped out his ciggarette, taking a look out the window at the figures standing under a flourescent light that bathed them in a sickly green tinge. They were at the docks in South Hinkley tonight, delivering some sort of cargo to the Berreti Family. God he hated them, if it wasn't for Santo's new "Don't start shit" rule. . . He remembered when they had a "Kill on sight" rule too. It was personal for Bobby when it came to the Berreti's. They'd killed the original Bossman years ago. Jimmy Cassamento was Bobby's best friend, and _Jimmy_ would've stopped at nothing for revenge of spilled blood. But that was before the 'truce'. Bobby didn't give a damn about any truce, in fact if he had it his way he'd kill them all and go home and out of this weather, but that's not what the new Bossman wanted. And as always, what the Bossman wanted, he got.

He looked agitatedly again out the tinted back window as the rain streamed down the glass. "All this freakin' rain an' you idiots didn't even think of bringin' an umberella?" They all shifted uncomfortably when Bobby's gaze passed over them, and he shook his head at their silence, before frustratedly flinging open the door to step out into the sudden sting of the ice cold droplets. He crossed his arms and leaned heavily against the SUV while his overpaid crew of idiots filed out, making their weapons plainly visible to their waiting rivals. The Berreti's men copied the action as a large bald man sporting a black pair of sunglasses and unruly goatee stepped forward.

"You got the shipment?" He shouted from under the protection of his umbrella. Bobby simply nodded, and pointed to three large duffle bags in the back of the SUV. He was too angry for words at the moment. Of course _they_ had umbrellas, he thought to himself. But he shook his head again at the thought, feeling the familiar ache of a migraine coming on and pulled the bottle of perscription blood pressure medication from his pocket. It was nights like these he wished he had a strong drink to accompany it. He was in the process of shaking one out of the bottle when a shout pierced the air, startling him. 

"What the hell is going-?" He stopped his question short as looked up to see the bald man fall forward onto his knees clutching his throat, choking on the blood spurting from between his fingers. Another fell in a similar fashion, thudding straight to the ground, coughing and choking before the others even knew to react. A barely audible thump was heard somewhere over head, and the men aimed their guns in the direction it had came from. "What the fuck is going on?" A Beretti man whispered, turning every which way, looking for any signs of movement.

"There!" a man suddenly shouted, firing his weapon at an unseen enemy, the rest followed suit, firing relentlessly into the darkness and turning the dockyard into a warzone. Bobby dropped instinctively to the concrete. All the men around him were firing wildly in every direction as they continued to drop one by one. Bobby crawled under the SUV as bullets fizzed and cracked over him, pelting the SUV and shattering its windows. Bobby had managed to un-holster his pistol as he crawled on his belly to the other side of the vehicle, still staying low as he moved into a crouched position. "Oh shit.." he muttered, brushing errant strands of hair from his face. One of his bodyguards fell violently against the hood of the truck and he noticed the glint of a silver object protruding from his forehead. And with that, Bobby began to run, ignoring the warzone around him and leaped over one of his fallen men to head for the boat docking area on the south end. If he could get to a boat he could get away from this godawful mess.

The rain pounded heavily on him, soaking his clothes and matting his hair to his forehead with its never ending torrent. Tonight's job wasn't supposed to go like _this._ Take the shipment to the docks, they said. Leave it for the guys they got waiting, they said. Yeah, right, Bobby thought, only they weren't dealing with a killer shadow.

Bobby began hyperventilating as he ran and his chest became tighter and tighter with each passing second."Oh God...oh God...oh God..." Bobby chanted, Desert Eagle pistol held firmly in his grip. The crack of gunfire slowed and Bobby found cover behind a large steel container, the roar of thunder almost drowned out the scream. Bobby pressed the cold steel of his gun to his forehead as he tried to steady his breathing, "Okay..." he murmered, looking at the safe haven of the boat docks not thirty feet away. He steeled himself and began a sprint towards the boats, moving as fast as his chubby legs could carry him, but when he was nearly ten feet away...

BOOM! A boat went up in flames.

BOOM! Went another.

BOOM! And another.

Until there was nothing left of his getaway vehicles. "NO!" He screamed, whirling around and pointing his gun wildly in every direction to fire a couple rounds into the shadows, for any lurking thing that could be hiding in the dark. "Batman? I know it's you ya pointy eared bastard!" Come on out! Face me!" The last two words lacked conviction as he trembled, his gun shaking as he aimed it into the darkness. Three objects slammed into his chest and knocked him back into a container. He groaned as he slid down its side and he looked down at the throwing stars in his chest.

"Batman?" asked a cold voice. "No, not quite." A dark figure dropped down from the top of the container to land quietly in front of him. He wore a long black leather coat and as he turned, Bobby noticed his high grade military tactical gear. He had an armory of weapons strapped to him, but the most visible was a sword that hung from his back. He stode quietly over, crossing his arms to look over a wounded Bobby and chuckling at the sight. "Now..." he said, yanking Bobby up by his collar which elicited a groan from the large man. "Where's Steven Piercy?" He growled, Bobby stared at his own terrified expression reflected on the black and orange armored helmet that was only inches away from his face.

"Who- who are you?" Bobby asked weakly. He looked into the malice shown in that one stormy blue eye as the assassin spoke in a husky whisper his words echoing with a metalic ring inside his mask,

"Where's my daughter?" Bobby gulped as Deathstroke drew his sword.


	2. Chapter 1

A/N: This is a bit of a Gordon centric chapter, but you'll see a lot more of Bruce in later chapters. Who can find the Batman: Year One quote I hid somewhere?

The scene of the crime was a horrendous flood of activity as Gordon's team set up a perimeter around the Gotham Dockyards. The commissioner tiredly placed his hands on his hips and sighed as he observed the chaos around him. Ten unidentified victims, all armed to the teeth and all exept one was killed with a precisely thrown projectile to the throat or head. Gordon assumed from the massive volume of shell casings, they hadn't hit whatever it was they were shooting at. But what was curious, was the fact that the last victim found, was found on the south end of the dockyards. He was obviously trying to escape his unfortunate fate but was decapitated in the process. He looked down at the chubby man, with his terrified head laying between his legs, and judging from the gastly expression permanently fixed on the poor fellow's face he'd most likely be the only one to come face to face with the killer. If only for a moment.

"We got a name yet?" Gordon asked, running his fingers through his hair before being abruptly handed a plastic baggie by a young detective who quickly filled him in,

"Identification card says Robert Finch sir. The name doesn't show up in the database, but we'll be sure to cross check it for any known aliases." The young man stood from his previously crouched position to look Gordon straight in the face, as straight as he could get anyway being a full two feet taller than his senior officer. "That plus the prints they're gonna lift from the gun should at least give us a decent look at who this guy really is." Gordon blinked, it was only until he finished speaking that Gordon noticed he didn't even recognize the face in front of him. "I'm sorry," Gordon stammered, offering his hand to the weathered looking younger man, "Detective Monahan. You personally applied me to your team last week, I transferred from here from L.A." Gordon nodded quickly, dismissing his explanation, "Yeah, I remember now. Welcome aboard son." Gordon was much too tired for the run of the mill pleasentries, there'd be time for that in the morning.

The commissioner patted the lanky young man on the back , wandering slowly over to the boat docking area at the southernmost part of the dock. He examined the charred remains of the boats that floated idly on the the thickness of the saltly sea brine as a cool breeze blew past, carrying with it the scent of the ocean and feint smell of the gasoline drums that had been demolished along with the boats. Good God what a mess, he thought shaking his head, someone definitely didn't want them to escape. His shoulders slumped tiredly as thunder from the previous storm rumbled in the distance.

"Evening Commissioner." rasped a familiar deep voice causing Gordon's head to snap up to where the vigilante sat perched on top of one of the containers, quietly looking down at the older man from his place in the shadows. Gordon placed a hand on his hip as he stroked his mustache, trying to remain unsuspicious.

"How long have you been here?" Gordon asked while keeping his eyes off of the man crouched atop the container.

"Long enough." the Batman said, his eyes flickering over to the body of the large man being examined by Gordon's CSI team. "Robert Calzotti. He's been working for the Cassamento family for decades." The policeman's eyes widened and he turned to face the vigilante, ignoring all attemts at subtlety.

"The Cassamentos? I thought they'd all left after Jimmy Cassamento's murder. How can you be sure it's them?" The dark knight moved his gaze back to Gordon while he spoke, noticing the sudden alarm on the older man's features at the mention of the name. The Cassamento's were the one of the oldest families in Gotham, apparently Gordon had dealt with them before.

"They've avoided suspicion. Payments to the Berreti's keep things quiet. Only tonight, something went wrong." Batman watched Gordon as he paced slowly back and forth with his arms crossed over his chest, mulling over the new information in his head before speaking,

"That explains the other guys. You think whoever did this did it for the money?" Gordon never looked up, resuming his less conspicuous pose looking out over the ocean as he tightened his coat around himself to protect against the biting chill of the night air.

"It's possible. But that doesn't explain Calzotti. The projectiles found on his body were used only to disable him. If he wanted to kill Calzotti sooner he would have. He wanted him alive." Gordon's brow furrowed as something occured to him,

"Wait, you said 'he'. You're saying one man did this?" Gordon looked up to find that the perpetually still figure was gone, he had chosen to take his leave again before he could get an answer out of him, back into the inky blackness from wence he came. Still, what he had learned was potentially groundbreaking. Gordon strode off back towards the squad cars that were parked in various places around the docks to report this news to his men, the Berreti's and the Cassamento's wouldn't be happy about this, it was best to keep this on the down low for now to avoid any violent action on either of their parts.

But Gordon couldn't help but fear this was the calm before a storm. He began shouting orders as soon as he was in hearing distance of his men, "I want a search ran in the system for everyone affiliated with the Berreti and Cassamento families and all their recent activities! And search the name Robert Calzotti! It may shed some light as to who he's been working for!" As he approached, news vans screamed to a halt in front of the entrance to the docks. He was surprized they weren't here sooner, any other time they would've practically sniffed it out before it even happened.

After a flurry of questions and the repeated response of "no comment" Gordon was finally headed back to his car, and back to his home where his nice, warm bed would be waiting. He hated these late nights, he hated the job, he hated the gun. He wished he could just forget his troubles for a while and spend time with his family. And sleep. God he wanted to sleep more than anything at the moment. But he knew that with the amount of crazies in this city, that would be impossible. Even with _his_help. But to be honest, he was just glad someone other than him out there gave a damn and tried to do what he thought was right to help keep the city, and the people safe. He often wondered what caused someone like Batman to do what he did, what purpose drove him. But what ever it was, the masked man seemed completely and utterly determined and dedicated to what he did. What kind of social life would a man like that lead? Or if he even had one for that matter. And on his way home, Gordon pondered his true identity again for a fleeting moment. Giving it up due to his exhausted and overworked mind. He didn't really want to know anyway, Gordon figured it'd be easier that way. Once home, Gordon heated up the leftovers from dinner and ate without a sound before quietly trudging to his bedroom to find his sleeping wife wrapped in the blankets, completely oblivious to his prescence as he slipped into bed beside her and he sighed, tomorrow was going to be hell.

Bruce drove the pod back to the cave from where he had stashed it in an abandoned warehouse not far from the docks. It didn't seem to take him any time at all considering his preoccupied state. His thoughts had been full of the details of the crime he had just left.  
>"Eventful night, Master Wayne?" Alfred asked quietly as soon as the lift stopped it's ancient protests of use.<br>"More eventful than you know, Alfred." Bruce said breathlessly, unlatching the cowl and removing it. The older man strode quickly over and proceeded to help Bruce remove the rest of his armor while Bruce spoke, filling his butler in on the night's developments. "Some members of the Berreti and Cassamento families were attacked tonight. And whoever it was was able to avoid being seen and pick off every person there one by one by using shuriken thrown from a distance. I've never seen this level of precision with thrown weapons, not even when I trained with Ra's. Whoever this is, is highly trained. We need to be on the lookout for him from now on, he's too dangerous."

"You know, normal people would try and stay away from those kinds of things Master Wayne." Alfred said in a snide tone as he unlatched Bruce's cape and draped it over the back of a chair.

Bruce grinned slightly at the man, but gave him no reply, intead he continued, "They are _not _going to take this lightly. Large quantities of money stolen, their men killed by some assassin, there's no doubt in my mind they'll blame one another." He brought up Bobby Calzotti's file onto the computer. "This man was found away from the others, isolated. The assassin must've needed him alive for something before he killed him." Bruce examined the pictures, his hand resting against his mouth as he thought.

Alfred's brow furrowed, "What exactly leads you to believe this sir?" Bruce opened another window containing the pictures taken from the scene,

"This man was hit with three precisely thrown shuriken, and we've seen with the others that if he wanted to kill him with one he could have done it easily. These were meant to disable. He'd be alive long enough for the assassin to get what he needed from him and leave before the police got there." Alfred sat down in a chair off to Bruce's right and stared up at the screen as Bruce opened the rest of the pictures, all of them easily visible on the large screen. Alfred leaned forward to examine them closer, and bruced watched the older man in silence while he thought.

"All that blood. . . some of it's bound to have gotten on him." Bruce's eyes widened, as he faced his friend.

"Alfred you're a genius." Bruce stood and stretched his sore muscles before striding quickly over to the lift, Alfred following slowly behind.

"Naturally sir. I try my best to not to spoil the surprise of how he got away with it until after you've beat him to a pulp." Bruce chuckled and shook his head at Alfred's coy smile as he stepped into place beside his master.

"Remind me to set up a meeting with Lucius sometime tommorrow, I've got some ideas I think he'd find interesting." Alfred nodded as they reached their destination in the freshly completed manor and Bruce entered the code to slide the bookcase aside to give them entrance into the library. Bruce yawned when he finally made it to his bedroom and Alfred chuckled softly behind him,

"Why don't we make sleep the next thing on your agenda sir? I doubt Mr. Fox will disappear before you wake up tomorrow." Bruce shook his head tiredly at his oldest friend "Goodnight, Alfred." He practically collapsed onto his bed and was asleep before he even heard Alfred's reply, "Goodnight, Master Bruce."


	3. Chapter 2

A/N: This chapter was a bit longer, and features Batman and Deathstroke's first harrowing encounter plus a glimpse at Deathstroke's softer side. Hope you enjoy. Don't forget to review!

The music box played that simple, sweet tune once more. Deathstroke had wound it again for nearly the thirtieth time as he poured himself another drink. The soft burn of the scotch did noting to ease the pain. An almost never ending ache in his chest was all he had felt these ten long years, and it begged to be filled with the one who was taken from him all that time ago. In the dim light of his hideout, he watched the little figure spin again at an agonizingly slow pace. It was almost like his soul were wrapped around that little figure and with each turn more and more of his humanity went with it. He sang the words softly while the music continued to play and the alcohol began to dwindle:

_"Hush, little baby, don't say a word.  
>Papa's gonna buy you a mockingbird,"<em>

He lightly ran his fingers down the length of his knife and listened to the metallic ring of his touch moving against the blade.

_"And if that mockingbird won't sing,  
>Papa's gonna buy you a diamond ring," <em> 

He stared at his own grim face reflected in his mask, and it stared back at him mockingly as the tears left a burning trail down his cheeks.

_"And if that diamond ring turns brass,  
>Papa's gonna buy you a looking glass,"<em>

He grabbed the hilt of his knife and gripped it so hard his hand shook under the force of it, causing his knuckles to turn a stark white against the surrounding darkness.

_"And if that looking glass gets broke,  
>Papa's gonna buy you a billy goat,"<em> 

The tip of the blade carved absentmindedly into the wood of his desk, tracing unseen patterns in a quick and hurried manner and his jaw clenched tight at what he saw etched into the dark grain,

_"And if that billy goat won't pull,  
>Papa's gonna buy you a cart and bull,"<em> 

His eyes ached almost too much for him to make it out, yet there it was, as plain as day. A name. A name he knew all too well.

ROSE.

'_And if that cart and bull fall down,  
>You'll still be the sweetest little baby in town<em>,'

The last lyrics went unsang as he stared down at his daughter's name carved raggedly onto his desk, and his breathing became quick and heavy while images of her played in his mind. His hand quickly stroked over his face to wipe away the stray tears and his fingers brushed against the large scar on the right side of his face where his eye would've been. And suddenly his daughter wasn't the only resident in his mind.

Steven Piercy.

Robert Calzotti.

Hershell Durham.

All men he once considered friends, before he knew what they were involved in. A low growl emnated from his chest and he flung the empty scotch bottle against the wall where it shattered into peices before flipping over his desk in a drunken rage. Papers and gun supply magazines flew everywhere and his mask clattered to the floor as he scrambled to grab up his grandfather's WWII Luger pistol to blast the music box to shards. He couldn't stand to face it anymore. Again and again he fired, until his ears rang and the room echoed with the last remnants of the thunduerous gunshots. And even after the gun was empty, he kept squeezing the trigger as he stumbled in his inebriated sorrow, dropping with a thud to his knees to scream out what was left of his hatred for the men who removed his little girl from his life.

"Rosie baby, I'm so sorry. . ." He murmered softly, falling over onto his side to curl up onto the cold hardness of the concrete. He gladly succumbed to the blackness of drunken unconsciousness, not wanting to be haunted by something he failed to prevent, something he hated himself for. All he knew in his final moments of consciousness was that there'd be hell to pay. Tonight. . .

Bruce jerked awake with the sound of knocking on his office door, he had fallen asleep reviewing the evidence from the assassin murders strewn across his desk. He hastily gathered it up and stowed it away into a drawer before allowing the knockee entrance through the large mahogany doorway. "Come in." He said, clearing his throat. His assistant, a slender auburn haired woman named Sarah strolled casually into his office carrying a tray with a large mug of coffee and some bagels.

"Here you are, Mr. Wayne." He gave her a warm smile which was returned as he thanked her, eagerly accepting the coffee but declined when she offered him a bagel. "Oh, and I was to remind you that you have a meeting with Mr. Fox in ten minutes sir." Bruce thanked her again and sent her on her way before standing to adjust his suit which had become crumpled as he dozed against his desk.

Bruce sipped at his coffee, enjoying the rich taste and added caffeine boost he needed to keep him on his feet while he walked quickly to the elevators. He gave a half-hearted smile or "good morning" to those he passed in the almost maze like hallways, taking an occaisional drink of his steaming beverage along the way. The elevators that led to the sub-basement level of Wayne Enterprises was very much out of the way of the normal route of many employees, and even then only a very select few had access to them. Complete with their own key-card reader and seven number passcode that changed every half hour, the sub-basement level was close to being the most secure area of the building.

He entered the master code that overrided the security measures to allow him entrance into the elevator. Only he and Lucius knew this override code, and it certainly came in handy when trying to carry a steaming hot cup of coffee. Once he got to his destination he continued into the dark passage, the lights activating as he made his way to the retinal scanner. Unfortunately, the retinal scanner was a necessay precaution and couldn't be bypassed by the master code. Although it did make unauthorized entrances a little harder, were they to be attempted. Bruce leaned over the device and allowed it to do its job while a loud hiss denoted the airlock's compression and the tumblers activated to allow the door to slide open slowly, revealing the Applied Sciences division of Wayne Enterprises. As Bruce stepped inside, the doors closed and locked behind him, and he spotted Lucius leaning over a cluttered table on his right, "Good morning, Mr. Wayne. I assume you require my services?" Bruce chuckled as the elder man smiled at him from his place at the table,

"Morning Lucius." Bruce said politely as he shook hands with his friend. Lucius scribbled something down on a piece of paper before speaking,

"So what is it you need?" The elder man asked, slipping his hands into his pockets.

"I was wondering if you had any kind of high end data processing devices, something to scan in trace amounts of evidence and store it for later use?" Lucius nodded thoughtfully and strolled over to a large case in the corner, buried under various other boxes and covered with a tarp.

"I've got this," he said as he snapped open the large black case and revealed a small visor with multiple electrical leads attached to a small device meant for carrying on a belt or harness. "It acts as a Heads-up Display or HUD. It can process and catalog everything you see as well as let you review it during use. It can be outfitted for face recognition, as well as detect the makeup of various substances such as chemicals, fingerprints or genetic material. It was designed for CIA operatives to use in the field while searching for wanted criminals, but the government didn't want to pay to outfit entire teams of armed men when there are plenty of capable intelligence workers who can do the same thing without the risk of damaging expensive equipment." Bruce eyed the contraption thoughtfully, finishing off the rest of his coffee.

"Do you remember the sonic lenses I had you integrate into the cowl a while back?" Lucius eyed him warily, "Is there any way you can modify this tecnology to fit that design?" Lucius smiled while he thought, shaking his head at the young man before him.

"I can try. It's gonna take some time though." Bruce nodded and shook his hand again.

"Thanks Lucius, take all the time you need." Bruce decided to take his leave, his schedule wasn't too full so that meant he could get back to reviewing his evidence. Or sleep, he thought sarcastically, whichever comes first. He continued down the same path he had taken earlier back to his office. Tonight there was work to do.

Bruce sat perched atop a neon sign and listened with his directional microphone to the mobsters moving about at the far end of the street below, loading boxes into the back of a van.

"You hear about those guys down at the docks?" A tall, skinny man asked. An equally tall but muscular man answered, throwing another box into the van.

"Yeah. Ten guys. You know, they say Batman did it. Said he cut one guy's head clean off." His partner began to laugh,

"Ah, man the Bat ain't never killed nobody, let alone cut a guy's head off. Just beats the fuck outta ya to make you wish you were dead. Then hands you over to the cops." The muscular man laughed, though it lacked sincerity. He was most definitely shook up by the assassin's recent exploits.

"How do you know?" Said another man, appearing from behind the vehicle carting a dolly with at least three more boxes piled upon it. The skinny man lit a cigarette before answering,

"Cause I seen him, that's how. Me 'an a couple guys were trying to get a fix right? 'An he just appears outta fuckin' nowhere and hands me and the other guys our asses. Got me put in Blackgate for a while. If I see that scary fucker again, I'll put a bullet right between his eyes." The others laughed as he took a drag from his cigarrette and there was a few inherent words muttered between them. But the rest was lost as he put away the mic, activating the winch to the grapnel that pulled him upwards to the roof of the building he was on to get a better vantage point of the criminals below. When he regained stable footing he glanced to his left to eye another building about three feet across and another three feet shorter than the one he currently occupied. Taking a chance, Bruce cleared the short space between buildings as he ran, shifting his weight to the balls of his feet so that his movements were as quick as they were silent, moving towards his target like a menacing shadow.

Bruce crouched at the edge, silently catching his breath as they loaded the rest the the items into the van. He could hear them clearly now withot the assistance of the mic, yet much of their conversation yeilded little information that could. . .

POP!

One of the men dropped to the ground, the box he was holding crashing against the ground to reveal various stolen items packed inside, the man groaned as he rolled to his side, picking up something off of the ground.

"What the fuck is-" His question was cut short as the object in his hand exploded, enveloping him in a ball of flames. The others rushed to put him out to quell the screams and stench of burning flesh, but Bruce was already moving, trying to locate the source of the shot. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the glint of a metallic object on the roof of the building just opposite him. His mind raced, trying to think of a way to get across without the men noticing his prescence. But just then, a shadow detached itself from the darkened alleyway across the street just behind the men who was now frantically trying to gather up the dropped supplies.

Bruce reacted on impulse, attaching the magnetic end of his grapnel to a sign on his right and stepped off of the edge, using the winch to stop his descent with an ungraceful and rather painful jerk. He hurriedly unlatchced the grapnel from its anchor point and made his way toward the assassin.

He watched as the men were dispatched quickly by the edge of the assassin's katana. The masked man was of small stature, but very atheletic build, wearing military style pants and boots with a simple black t-shirt tucked properly into the waist of his pants. He wore shoulder and hip holsters for his guns and a metallic helmet, one side orange, one side black. The men were already dead as Bruce walked up and the assassin calmly placed his blade back into the scabbard. Giving a half-hearted two finger salute, the assassin spoke.

"I was starting to think you weren't real. Glad you proved me wrong, just stay outta my way and we'll get along just fine. My buissness doesn't concern you, I'll be out of your hair before you can blink." Bruce stared sternly at the smaller man, indecisive about what his next move should be, he hadn't counted on the assassin to not put up a fight.

"You've killed these men. You're a murderer." Bruce growled and the man nearly doubled over in laughter.

"Then-then what does that make them? Fuckin' delivery men? No. No. These men are the murderers. The rapists. I'm doing this city a favor, you shouldn't be so lenient." The man almost danced backwards, back into the cover of the shadows, "They call me Deathstroke by the way, pleasure to make your acquaintance. I'll be seeing you." The voice said from the shadows. Bruce charged into the dark after him, but the man was already gone up the fire escape that ascended the side of the building. Bruce dashed after him, leaping onto a Dumpster before latching onto the ladder to climb it as fast as he could. He flung himself over the edge of the building and onto the rooftop, running at a dead sprint after the shinking figure of the heavily armed man.

Bruce cleared several wide gaps between buildings as he chased after the agile man, but he always seemed to be a step ahead of him, expertly traversing the building's rooftops at an almost inhuman speed. Getting an idea, Bruce pulled several of his bat-shaped projectiles from his belt and flung them in the direction of the assassin and all but one flew by him, the other embedding itself into his thigh. He uttered a quick grunt as he tripped and fell, rolling to a stop in front of a door that led into the building he was now on.

"God-dammit. . .motherfucker. . ." Bruce heard him mutter under his breath as he dropped down onto the roof, his breathing heavy from the chase. "You mother-_fucker. . ._You just couldn't stay the hell away could you?" He yanked the metal object from his leg and stood on shaky legs to take up a fighting stance, one Bruce couldn't recognize. Bruce advanced and swung a wide right-hook, one that the assassin quickly ducked and danced away from, despite his injured leg. Deathstroke landed three blinding stikes, two to his ribs and one to the jaw before Bruce even knew to react, making him stumble back in amazement at his mysterious foe.

The assassin attempted a roundhouse kick, but Bruce leaned away from it and landed a solid elbow to the side of his mask, knocking him completely off his feet.

The dark knight leaned down and hammered Deathstroke's back with another elbow before grabbing him by the neck, hauling him off his feet to ram him into the door and but the assassin used the opening of being drawn back for a sweep, kicking Bruce's legs out from under him.

Bruce landed hard with a grunt onto the hard astro-turf as the assassin's foot meant to come down on his chest but he quickly rolled away, getting only to a crouched position when Deathstroke landed a stunning knee, sending him reeling back over the edge of the building and careening down to crash against the fire escape and all the way down to slam into the cold, hard concrete below. Bruce was aching everywhere, his ears were ringing and lights were dancing before his eyes as he struggled to heave himself up, holding his ribs from his unfortunate meeting with the guardrail of the fire escape. He looked up, the assassin was gone. Bruce had greatly underestimated his new foe, he'd have to be more careful in the future. Bruce breathed hard as he made his way back to his waiting vehicle, leaning heavily against the worn brick of the darkened alley, through the labyrinth of backstreets. He finally managed to limp his injured body to the pod, starting the roaring engine to start making his way back to the cave.

"Are you alright Master Bruce?" came Alfred's concerned voice from the bottom of the cave. He had overreacted as he saw Bruce's injured form sitting up against the meshing around the lift.

"It's nothing Alfred." The elder man strode over at an unusual pace and helped haul him to his feet to carry him over to the desk chair that sat in front of the massive computer.

"It doesn't bloody look like nothing." Bruce removed his cowl and Alfred dissapeared up the steps into the manor, probably to retreive medical supplies. He adjusted himself, testing his aching ribs for any signs of breakage. He assumed they were fractured, judging from the pain they were giving him. The major bruising would come later, only serving to exacerbate his already suffering social life. Alfred came down a moment later, carrying a clear plastic tray adorned with multiple first-aid items.

Once the upper portion of his armor was off Bruce struggled to sit still as Alfred wrapped his torso and shoulder with fresh bandages.

"I ran into him tonight. He was better than I anticipated. There was some men loading stolen supplies into a van and he slaughtered them all before I had time to get to him. When I confronted him, he started telling me that he was doing this city a service by killing them and then he ran off. I chased him to a rooftop and managed to injure him but he knocked me off the roof and got away. He told me to leave him to his buissness." Alfred was silent for a long moment as he finished with Bruce's bandages and handed him a small cup filled with an anti-septic rinse. He quickly swished out his mouth, the alcohol burning his busted lip as Alfred dabbed at it with a cloth, removing most of the dried blood from around the wound. He spit the rinse back into the cup and observed the once clear liquid now swirling with red.

"Maybe you should take his suggestion next time. You almost got yourself killed out there tonight, you're lucky he didn't come back to finish the job." Alfred said quickly, controlled anger lacing his words.

"I can't just let him roam free Alfred, he's killing people. They may be criminals but they're still people and they deserve the same chances as anyone else." Alfred gathered the used medical supplies and put them back onto the tray.

"That may be true Master Bruce, but those men still died out there tonight because of him. Nothing you could have done would've changed that. In fact, if that wasn't the case you'd most likely be dead along with them." The elder man placed the tray onto the desk as he began picking up Bruce's armor to place it back into the case. Bruce stood, stretching himself out cautiously as his body ached in protest.

"It doesn't matter. I could've stopped him, I could've kept him from killing them, if I die protecting people, if it saves a life and allows at least one person to live it's worth it. I owe the city that much." Alfred turned and stared at Bruce sternly before speaking,

"No sir, the way I see it, this city owes you. More than you'll ever know." Alfred finished with putting away the armor and picked up the tray of supplies and disappeared up the stairs, leaving Bruce alone with his thoughts. Bruce blinked and sat back down slowly, wincing as his ribs ached from the movement. He sighed, leaning back into the chair as he pondered Alfred's words. It was going to be a long and sleepless night.

A/N: So any thoughts? Hoped you liked Bruce and Alfred's little arguement, I wanted to show Alfred's parental like protectiveness over Bruce. Next chapter is in the works!


End file.
